Melancholia, Lars von Trier

My first (and only) experience with Lars von Trier began in the wee hours of 2015, when I embarked on Nymphomaniac: The Director's Cut Vol. I. It was an immediate desecration of any film innocence I had left. When I finished Vol. II the next night, (Sorry, the only way I could rationalize watching it was by separating it) I was somewhat disgusted with myself. For any future emboldened souls, please steer clear of the director's cut, especially Vol II. There is one scene which I barely had the fortitude to endure. I still am unsure how I made it through. In Nymphomaniac, it's like Lars von Trier's out to get you; no viewer can escape. This film watching experience gave me reluctance to experience any of von Trier's other work. But several days ago, as I chose Melancholia over Coppola's The Conversation, I began one of the greatest film experiences in my life.

Note: There will be spoilers. Please watch before reading; let your experience be pure!

The opening montage's beauty evoked memories of Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. From there, it was a blur. Each character was acted magnificently; each scene was saturated with emotional gravity. The premise: the parallel disintegration of Kirsten Dunst's character Justine and life itself, as the rogue planet Melancholia approaches Earth. Justine has a perfect life in front of her: a creatively satisfying job and an extravagant wedding with her attractive and caring soon-to-be husband. Yet she's lost, lost in her own mind. As her behavior becomes increasingly erratic, she attempts to find someone to cope with, but everyone's just beyond her grasp. Her evening becomes a real-life nightmare. The hopeful moments of her existence are her gazes into the sky, as if a savior resides in the stars. After the wedding Justine loses control; her depression emerges and consumes her. The morning following the wedding begins the second half of the film, where the characters' reactions to the incoming planet, Melancholia, are explored. Justine's caretaker, Claire, played by Charlotte Gainsbourg, is her anxiety-riddled sister. Claire's terrified of Melancholia's potential collision with earth, while her husband John reassures her the worst will not occur. John, played by Kiefer Sutherland, is a scientist whose calculations conclude Melancholia will not collide, but simply fly by. He's convinced that this moment will be aesthetically beautiful and will spur great advances in science. This view is assuredly explained to Leo, John and Claire's son. Upon discovery of the inevitability of planetary collision, each of the characters' reactions is disparate. John commits suicide, as everything he lives for will soon cease. His calculations were in err, the advancement of science is for nought, his son will be dead. Claire entered survival mode, her purpose became prolonging Leo's life, even if there was no rational method of doing so. Justine experienced serenity; she finally understood, her savior had arrived. The end was coming, it was present, and it was beautiful. The beauty was more than sensory, it was contextual. Each moment's significance was magnified. Sensationally, the beauty of life lies in its finiteness, its eventual death.

4 / 4